


Making it Count

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost losing a partner forces both men to think about their future. Sequel to Counting Blessing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making it Count

It was close today. Too close. I almost died today. I'm still not entirely sure why I didn't. I turned the corner and there he was - gun at the ready. He aimed, knowing I was trapped. Unarmed and caught like a deer in headlights, I could only wait for the inevitable outcome. A shot rang out and I convulsed for a second before realizing I hadn't been the one shot. The THRUSH dropped to his knees, his head a mass of blood and gray matter, and that's when I saw my partner, disheveled, bruised, and never before looking so wonderful. He shouldered the rifle he used, gave me a devilish grin and attitude. "So, Napoleon, am I correct in assuming you are here to rescue me?"

Yes, that had been my main purpose for infiltrating the satrap to begin with, that and the need to complete our mission. Waverly's orders had been explicit – we were expendable, the world's safety wasn't. Find the weapon and neutralize it or die trying. And yet, for some reason, the world didn't seem to matter as much to me as did the safety of one certain blond. When I learned he'd been captured, I knew in my heart what the next step was. Rescue him and let the world take care of itself.

He stands at the window now, staring out into the night, half a bottle of vodka in his gut and God knows what going through his mind. Whatever demons he's fighting, they're his alone. He doesn't offer to share and I don't bother to ask. Between us, we killed probably a dozen men, maybe more today. Whether or not it was in the pursuit of world safety or the necessity of good triumphing over evil, it didn't matter. There are a dozen men in the ground tonight, technically speaking, from our hands. A dozen men suddenly ceased to be because of us and it doesn't matter to me, because one man is safe.

I looked Death in the face today and saw myself looking back, cold and hard and uncaring. Is that what I've become? I'd like to think not. I'd like to think that life still holds a sweetness that I can, and do, savor and yet the thought of doing it without my partner… well, that's a thought for another day. For now, he is safe, we are safe.

He glances back at me and frowns, that crease between his eyes furrowing as he studies me. "Are you all right, Napoleon?"

He's been beaten, fed a cocktail of God know what kind of drugs, succeeded in nearly blowing himself and much of the known world to smithereens and he wants to know if I'm okay. I wish he'd spend as much time worrying about himself as he does me. It seems like everyone and everything takes precedence in his life except himself. His lack of self interest scares me, but I never let him know it. Nor can I let him know the affection… no, love, that I keep equally hidden. To let him know would be to welcome his wrath, his hatred, or worse, his pity. For the sake of our friendship, I must hide my love for him from him.

"I'm fine, why do you ask?" I plaster as much of a devil-may-care grin on my lips as possible.

"You look… morose, I suppose works as well as anything."

"Just thinking."

"I wondered what that grinding sound was," he says with a grin. He comes and squats before me, studying my face. "And should I offer you money for your thoughts?"

"Not worth it." He's so close now I can feel his breath against my cheek and I can't stop myself. It's too late as I lean forward and touch my lips to his. They're soft, not as full as a woman's, but just as pleasing. To my relief, he doesn't jerk back, if anything he leans forward, more into the kiss and my heart sighs.

"What was that for?" he asks a heart beat later, his mouth no more than a fraction from mine.

"For saving me," I murmur, resting my forehead against his.

"And that's all it was worth to you?" Then my fingers are tangled in his hair, his body is pressing against mine and then I know there was no need to worry or fear this, just the need. That's enough. For now, that's more than enough.

Oh, God…


End file.
